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P. What riches give us, let us then inquire: Meat, fire, and clothes. B. What more? P. Meat,
clothes, and fire. Is this too little ? would you more than live? Alas! 'tis more than Turner finds they give. Alas ! 'tis more than (all his visions past) Unhappy Wharton, waking, found at last! What can they give? To dying Hopkins, heirs ? To Chartres, vigour? Japhet, nose and ears? Can they in gems bid pallid Hippia glow? In Fulvia's buckle ease the throbs below? Or heal, old Narses, thy obscener ail, With all the embroidery plaster'd at thy tail ?They might (were Harpax not too wise to spend) Give Harpax' self the blessing of a friend; Or find some doctor that would save the life Of wretched Shylock, spite of Shylock's wife. But thousands die without or this or that, Die, and endow a college or a cat. To some indeed Heaven grants a happier fate To’ enrich a bastard, or a son they hate.
Perhaps you think the poor might have their part? Bond damns the poor,and hates them from his heart. The grave
Sir Gilbert holds it for a rule That every man in want is knave or fool. • God cannot love (says Blunt, with tearless eyes) The wretch he starves'-and piously denies: But the good bishop, with a meeker air, Admits, and leaves them, Providence's care.
Yet, to be just to these poor men of pelf, Each does but hate his neighbour as himself: Damn'd to the mines, an equal fate betides The slave that digs it and the slave that hides.
B. Who suffers thus, mere charity should own, Must act on motives powerful, though unknown.
P. Some war, some plague or famine, they foreSome revelation hid from
see, Why Shylock wants a meal the cause is found; He thinks a loaf will rise to fifty pound. What made directors cheat in South-sea To live on venison, when it sold so dear. Ask you why Phryné the whole auction buys? Phryné foresèes a general excise. Why she and Sappho raise that monstrous sum ?Alas! they fear a man will cost a plum.
Wise Peter sees the world's respect for gold, And therefore hopes this nation may be sold. . Glorious ambition ! Peter, swell thy store, And be what Rome's great Didius was before.
The crown of Poland, venal twice an age, To just three millions stinted modest Gage. But nobler scenes Maria's dreams unfold, Hereditary realms and worlds of gold. Congenial souls! whose life one avarice joins, And one fate buries in the Asturian mines.
Much-injured Blunt! why bears he Britain's hate? A wizard told him in these words our fate;• At length corruption, like a general flood, (So long by watchful ministers withstood) Shall deluge all; and avarice, creeping on, Spread like a low-born mist and blot the sun; Statesman and patriot ply alike the stocks, Peeress and butler share alike the box, And judges job, and bishops bite the town, And mighty dukes pack cards for half a crown: See Britain sunk in lucre's sordid charms, [arms!' And France revenged of Anne's and Edward's
'Twas no court-badge, great scrivener! fired thy
• All this is madness, cries a sober sage:-
Hearthen the truth:- Tis Heaven each passion And different men directs to different ends. Extremes in Nature equal good produce; Extremes in man concur to general use.' Ask we what makes one keep, and one bestow ?That Power who bids the ocean ebb and flow; Bids seed-time, harvest, equal course maintain, Through reconciled extremes of drought and rain; Builds life on death, on change duration founds, And gives the’eternal wheels to know their rounds.
Riches, like insects, when conceal’d they lie, Wait but for wings, and in their season fly. Who sees pale Mammon pine amidst his store, Sees but a backward steward for the poor ; This year a reservoir to keep and spare, The next a fountain spouting through bis heir, In lavish streams to quench a country's thirst, And men and dogs shall drink him till they burst.
Old Cotta shamed his fortune and his birth, Yet was not Cotta void of wit or worth:
What though (the use of barbarous spits forgot)
Not so his son; he mark'd this oversight,
go to ruin fortunes than to raise. What slaughter'd hecatombs, what floods of wine, Fill the capacious squire and deep divine ! Yet no mean motive this profusion draws; His oxen perish in his country's cause; 'Tis George and liberty that crown the cup, And zeal for that great house which eats him up. The woods recede around the naked seat, The silvans groan
no matter--for the feet: Next goes
his wool—to clotbe our valiant bands; Last, for his country's love, he sells his lands.
To town he comes, completes the nation's hope,
The sense to value riches, with the art
P. Who starves by nobles, or with nobles eats? The wretch that trusts them, and the rogue that
cheats. Is there a lord who knows a cheerful noon Without a fiddler, flatterer, or buffoon? Whose table Wit or modest Merit share, Unelbow'd by a gamester, pimp, or player! Who copies yours or Oxford's better part, To ease the oppress'd, and raise the sinking heart?